


I've Been Facing This Alone For Much Too Long

by HamishMcCat



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), But just need a little time to get sorted, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, They love each other, self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23884258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamishMcCat/pseuds/HamishMcCat
Summary: “I love you more than anything else in this entire universe, you know that, right?”Aziraphale didn't answer.“I'm starting to think that's part of the problem. I think I might need to move myself up on my priorities list.”The silence in the bookshop is deafening.“I need some time, Aziraphale. And I think you do too.” When he got no response Crowley let out another sigh. “Call me when you figure out what you want.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 132





	I've Been Facing This Alone For Much Too Long

**Author's Note:**

> The main reason I wrote this was because I have read so many works that have Crowley being so tied up in Aziraphale that he has no life outside of his angel. I just wanted to let him find himself a little bit. I had the argument and Crowley's self-care in my head, but I couldn't leave these two hanging without a make-up. 
> 
> Title comes from the lyrics of Queen's "Too Much Love Will Kill You."

“I just...I can't do this anymore.”

The sigh that followed was heart rending. In it was such bone wary exhaustion, so old that it was imprinted on the soul. 

“I love you so much it hurts. And I'm so tired...so tired of being hurt. I thought, I really thought that finally, after six thousand years, the hurting was over.”

Aziraphale just looked at him. He hadn't said a word since they entered the bookshop. His face was emotionless, his mind taking in but not fully processing what Crowley was saying. 

It wasn't a new fight. So much had changed since Armageddon, but at the same time, so little had. 

Crowley ran his fingers through his hair and when Aziraphale just allowed the silence to hang, he continued. 

“I love you more than anything else in this entire universe, you know that, right?”

Aziraphale didn't answer. 

“I'm starting to think that's part of the problem. I think I might need to move myself up on my priorities list.”

The silence in the bookshop is deafening. 

“I need some time, Aziraphale. And I think you do too.” When he got no response Crowley let out another sigh. “Call me when you figure out what you want.”

As Crowley got into the Bentley, he could feel his heart breaking. But he also felt pride. Not sinful, exaggerated pride, but well earn pride. Not in six thousand years did he think he would ever be able to look Aziraphale in the eye and say what needed to be said. 

The Bentley, good semi-sentient car that she was, began playing Queen’s _Too Much Love Will Kill You._

Once in his flat, he poured himself two fingers of scotch before putting the bottle back in the cabinet. He wasn't aiming to get drunk. He just wanted enough to take the edge off the pain of heartache, but not enough to kill it. He wasn't drinking to forget. 

He cried. He shouted at his plants. He sat and thought and cried some more. 

He had tried to eat an entire quart of ice cream, as popular culture told him that was the thing to do for heartache, but he was too snakey for that much dairy. 

He regretted the ice cream. 

There were times he had his doubts about what he said to Aziraphale. Was he too harsh? Was he overreacting? But he couldn't bring himself to regret what he said. He needed to say it. 

Since Armageddon came and went, Crowley had taken the opportunity to be completely open and honest with Aziraphale. He put all his cards on the table. All his feelings, his hopes, his dreams were spread out before Aziraphale. No more lies, no more hiding, no more half spoken truths. 

They had both been so happy to be free. To finally really be together, out in the open. Or that was what Crowley had thought. 

While his hand was out and exposed, Aziraphale had apparently decided to keep his cards still held close to his chest. 

He continued to keep Crowley at arm's length. 

He was uncomfortable with any public display of affection. Crowley could respect that. Many beings were private like that. 

But it was the fact that the lying and the manipulation had continued that had pushed Crowley too far. 

So many times he had begged Aziraphale to _just ask_ if he had wanted something. All he had to do was ask and Crowley would tear the moon out of its orbit for him. But Aziraphale never asked. He turned his pout on, or hinted, or wheedled, or nudged. _Bless it, angel, please just ask me!_

Crowley knew old habits die hard, but it hurt. It hurt so much that after everything they had been through that Aziraphale still treated him like they were on opposite side, still answering to their head offices. He wanted...no, he needed to be treated like an ally, like a partner. 

Crowley had tried so hard to make sure Aziraphale knew how he was feeling, and things would improve, for a little while at least, until the angel slipped back into his old ways. 

Crowley slumped into his throne with his drink and flipped on _The Golden Girls_. He pulled out his phone and set an alarm for nine the next morning. He set two more alarms just to be on the safe side. He would not let this turn into another epic nap. 

It only took a few episodes before he drifted off. He woke up the next morning to the sun streaming in through the windows and his phone plinking out its alarm tone. 

It took a minute for Crowley to take stock of everything that had happened the day before. 

His hair was a mess and so was his life. The hair, at least, he could fix with his snap. His life, not so much. 

And snap he did. His hair fell into a perfect well-coiffed style and his clothes were unrumpled. He grabbed his keychain and headed out the door. Today was going to be day one of Crowley treating himself as a priority. 

~*~

A little over three weeks later Aziraphale still hadn't called. 

Crowley _hated_ it. He missed Aziraphale. But he stayed strong and kept himself busy. 

He had gone on a tour of the Kew Gardens that resulted in a full on shouting-match and near fist fight with the head gardener. They got drinks at a nearby pub later that evening. 

He had begun taking macrame classes and had already woven a few plant holders that he had put his best behaved plants in. Winners get hammocks. 

He and the Bentley went out for drives in the country where he could really let her loose. They had attracted quite a few comments from a local car club that was also out for a drive one sunny afternoon. He didn't stay for too long, knowing absolutely nothing about how cars actually worked he couldn't really hold a conversation, but he did stay long enough for the Bentley to preen under their praise. 

He had spent a day and night at a spa resort getting the full treatment. He wasn't sure where humans had come up with the idea of wrapping themselves in seaweed and dunking themselves in mud, but he loved it. The snake in him decided that hot stone massages were the best thing humans ever invented. 

He was at home, busy miracling himself up some new clothes based on his online viewing of the latest fashion shows, when he was interrupted by insistent knocking. 

It wasn't Aziraphale. He knew Aziraphale’s knock. 

Making sure his sunglasses were in place he opened the door a crack to have the witch woman from Armageddon shove her way in looking positively furious. 

Before he could even open his mouth to demand to know why she was there, Anathema shouted at him.

“YOU BROKE UP WITH AZIRAPHALE?!”

Crowley started. The words wounded his already fragile heart. He had never once thought of this as a break up. It was, as annoying as the word was after that American sitcom that wasn't _The Golden Girls_ , a break. Some space. Time to think and get themselves sorted before they started the rest of their lives together without the weight of their head offices. 

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I just came from the bookshop. Aziraphale and I were supposed to get together for lunch, but he never showed and wouldn't answer his phone so I went over there. It took forever to get him to answer the door. He had a layer of dust on him, Crowley, thick dust!”

Anathema would be appalled to know that this detail did not give Crowley any cause for concern. In the thrall of a good book, Aziraphale was known to sit absolutely motionless, save for page turning, for weeks on end. So hearing this, he scoffed, assuming the angel had gotten caught up in reading again. 

“I don't think I have ever seen eyes so red and swollen. He barely stopped crying long enough to apologize to me.”

This fact did make Crowley pause. 

“And you know what he told me?”

Crowley shook his head.

“He said that you two had a fight and that YOU LEFT HIM! So I just have one question for you,” She paused for dramatic effect, but not long enough for him to respond, “What did you do?”

Crowley shook his head in genuine confusion, “Pardon?”

Anathema pressed on, “What did you do to break that poor man’s heart? I don’t think I have ever seen anyone so miserable. I’m sure if you apologize he will take you back.”

“Apolo...what? What makes you think that this is _my_ fault? Did he say that?”

“No, but he said you left after you two fought.”

Something in Crowley snapped. He didn’t make a habit of yelling at anyone but his plants or the occasional other demon, but he yelled at Anathema. 

“What makes you think that it isn’t him that broke my heart? Is this because he’s an angel and I’m a demon? For six thousand years I have done everything for him. I gave up _everything_ for him. I do it again in a heartbeat, but he…” 

At that, all the fire had gone out of Crowley, drowned by his sorrow. He choked back the sob that threatened to leak out and turned away from Anathema. 

“If I’m so horrible and he’s so infallible, you should just go back and comfort _him_.”

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley was back where he was three weeks ago. Alone, in his flat, and crying. 

~*~

Anathema suddenly appeared on her back with a hard thud on the bookshop floor. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough to knock the wind out of her. It was Crowley’s demonic equivalent of slamming the door in her face. 

For the second time that day, Anathema startled Aziraphale out of his pensive musings. A cloud of dust kicked up as he hurried to her side to help her up.

“Ms. Device, are you alright? How did you get in here?”

Anathema allowed herself to be hauled up to her feet. She straightened her skirts, trying to muster some dignity as the air returned to her lungs.

“Crowley apparently wasn’t too happy to see me.”

Aziraphale let out a small gasp. “You saw Crowley? Why? How…how is he? Is he alright?”

Anathema scoffed, “Tetchy as always. All I tried to do was encourage him to come and apologize to you and he….”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

Anathema had never heard Aziraphale even come close to raising his voice outside of Armageddon itself. To hear him yelling was unnerving.

“I was just trying to help. You seemed so miserable.” Anathema tried to explain herself, but was beginning to feel the creeping shame that she had made some terrible assumptions and read the situation all wrong. “I think I might have made a mistake.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands, “Yes, I rather think you did. Oh, the poor dear,” he turned to her with a sigh, “I am the only one to blame for his leaving. Crowley was right. I do owe him an apology. Six thousand years worth of apologies, in fact. I had been waiting to contact him until I was ready to truly give him the apology, and the future, he deserves…” He trailed off, hands still wringing.

“I could go talk to him again.” Anathema offered, but with hesitation. She had already mucked things up so thoroughly, as much as she wanted to help, she felt like she was dealing with forces beyond her abilities.

“No, thank you, my dear. I think this is something I better handle myself.” Aziraphale politely, but firmly, took Anathema by the arm and led her towards the door, “Now I don’t mean to be rude, but I really do have some thinking to do.”

Anathema allowed herself to be ushered out, and parted from Aziraphale with a brief kiss to his cheek, another murmured apology, and a wish of good luck.

After relocking the bookshop, Aziraphale hurried to his writing desk. 

~*~

In the time that passed since banishing Anathema from his flat, Crowley had cried himself out and pulled himself together enough to gather up some twine and practice his macrame knots while he watched some mindless telly. He found the knot work grounding. 

Unexpectedly, he felt the air shift as a minor ethereal miracle manifested in front of him in the form of a cream colored envelope made of heavy cotton paper. With only a slight hesitation he grabbed up the letter and popped the crimson wax that had been sealed with an impression of Aziraphale’s signet ring. Inside was a letter in Aziraphale’s unmistakable copperplate script.

_Dearest Crowley,_

_I must start by saying this is not the communication from me that you must be waiting for. You deserve so much more than a hastily scribbled missive for that._

_I felt it necessary to contact you to apologize for the appearance of Ms. Device at your home. I assure you, I told her nothing that should have caused her to assume that you were in anyway at fault for anything that happened between us. I have set the record straight with her, but I did want to make sure that she did not upset you too much._

_I do feel I also must apologize for the dilatoriness of my contacting you. Introspection is never an easy task, especially when there are six millennia worth of actions to scrutinize. As you well know, I have never been a fast-moving being, and I want, with every fiber of my soul, to do right by you._

_Rest assured, my love, that I will be contacting you when I feel that I will be able to prove to you that I am truly the partner you deserve and that I am worthy of your forgiveness._

_Yours Always,_

_~Aziraphale_

Crowley read the note over and over again, memorizing each word, before returning it reverently to its envelope and taking it into his office. 

While the words of the letter had helped to relieve the ache in his chest, it had been the opening and closing of the letter that had caused his heart nearly to burst through his chest with joy. 

Not the endearments, those were common enough, ever present in Aziraphale’s vocabulary.

No, it was the fact that Aziraphale had included both of their names.

Crowley opened the box on his desk, revealing a pile of letters that in no physical way should have been able to fit in a box the size of the ornate thing on his desk. It contained every note, letter, and correspondence that Aziraphale had ever sent to him, from brittle papyrus to fading scroll, and even a few crumbling clay tablets. Of all those thousands of years worth of messages, the letter that he placed gently on top was the only one that included both of their names in full. The risk of discovery had always meant that Aziraphale insisted on initials, if anything. 

Crowley couldn't help but smile to himself. For his glacial-paced angel, this was positively careening down the Autobahn. 

~*~

It was another month until Aziraphale rang him. Crowley was in the conservatory, snapping in and out various chair options he was trying to decide between.

Crowley had been redecorating his entire flat. It was time to get rid of the decor that was in keeping with the image he felt demon extraordinaire Anthony J. Crowley should portray, and fill his home with what he actually wanted. What ‘sparked joy’ as all the humans seemed to be saying these days. And what sparked the most joy to Crowley was creating a space that both he and Aziraphale could share and enjoy. 

This was not an easy task, and in the end he leaned heavily into the Arts and Crafts style. It seemed to be the optimal blend of his love of strong, clean geometric lines and Aziraphale’s desire for warmth and craftsmanship. 

He kept his art, statuary, and mementos with sentimental value, as well as his ridiculously ornate desk and throne, which never fit in anywhere other than the Palace of Versailles, where they may or may not have been stolen from. Each piece was a reminder of his long time on earth, and mainly his time with Aziraphale. His plants had begun to spread into the flat, decorating the nooks and crannies of the newly installed, but mostly empty, floor-to-ceiling bookcases. 

He was currently in the process of turning the conservatory into more of a sunroom than a greenhouse. There was the perfect place to sit that caught the afternoon light and was ideal for simultaneous reading and sunbathing, if only he could find the perfect chair. He snapped in a hanging chair, but snapped it out knowing that the motion would make him nauseated. A large papasan chair was snapped very quickly in and out again, Aziraphale would complain about the lack of lumbar support. He had finally decided on an over-sized chocolate brown leather armchair, affectionately called, according to the internet, a ‘cuddler chair,’ that would more than comfortably fit a round angel and angular demon, with a matching ottoman when his landline rang. 

Crowley pulled his mobile out of his jacket pocket and answered the call, because he expected to be able to answer a landline call on his mobile rather than having set up any type of forwarding service with the phone company. 

“Hello, angel.”

“Hello, dear. I hope this isn’t a bad time.” 

“It’s never a bad time for you.” Crowley smiled at how nervous Aziraphale sounded.

“Oh, good. I was rather hoping you would join me for dinner tonight. Maybe at that little phở restaurant you like so much.”

Crowley smiled, his assent on the tip of his tongue. Had the invitation come anytime in his long life other than that moment, the yes would have already been through his lips. It almost still was. Agreeing to a meal with Aziraphale was almost a compulsion that Crowley was powerless to fight. But he glanced at the packed suitcase near the door, frowned, and resisted.

“Actually, I’m really sorry, but I can’t tonight.”

There was a pause on the line, and Crowley could almost hear Aziraphale blink in surprise before he stumbled slightly to respond. 

“Oh, um, well. That’s alright. How about brunch tomorrow? We could go to that place that makes the eggs...”

Crowley cut him off, “Can’t. I’m not going to be in London.”

Aziraphale made a broken little noise, “Not...not in London?” He sounded positively distraught. 

In a flash Crowley realized the conclusions Aziraphale must have jumped to and rushed to correct it.

“Just for the weekend. Just a quick trip out of town.” Crowley didn’t need to tell Aziraphale where he was going, he knew this. He didn’t _owe_ him an explanation. But he wanted to give him one. He wanted Aziraphale to know everything about him. “I actually have started going to this astronomy meet-up group thing. Bunch of amateur stargazers, really. One of them is some kind of relation to the senior astronomer up in Kielder. Some cousin’s roommate’s sister-in-law or something. Anyway, they got the group invites up there for this whole weekend symposium thingy. But the big thing is, they're giving us access to fiddling around with all that equipment.”

Crowley didn’t even try to hide the enthusiasm in his voice. And he could hear Aziraphale’s second-hand excitement on the other end of the phone.

“Oh, my dear, that sounds like the perfect thing for you. Now, you aren’t going to do anything devious with those telescopes, are you?”

His voice was teasing. They both knew astronomy was one human field that Crowley would never negatively disturb. 

Crowley chuckled, “Nah, I’m just jazzed I’ll get to look through them.”

“When do you get back?” Aziraphale asked softly.

“About half-five on Sunday.”

“Would it be alright if I came by then?”

“Yeah, angel, that would be great.”

“I’ll see you then. Mind how you go.”

  
  


~*~

Sunday afternoon brought the familiar sound of the Bentley’s rumbling engine to its usual, and miraculously, always available, parking spot on the streets of Mayfair. 

The first thing Crowley noticed as he rolled up was Aziraphale, perched on the retaining wall outside of Crowley’s building, with his nose buried in a rather modern looking paperback with a purple cover. 

Crowley sauntered up, having already banished his luggage upstairs. Aziraphale broke into a smile at the sight of him that lit up the whole street, and had to give a little hop to get off the wall, both of which caused Crowley’s confident saunter to falter ever so slightly, overwhelmed by the mutual love filling the air. 

“Hello, dearest.” Aziraphale said softly as he pulled Crowley into an embrace, book vanished somewhere into the ether. Crowley was shocked by this public display of affection, and would have fallen over if it weren’t for the arms around him, when Aziraphale pressed a brief but deep kiss to his lips. “I have missed you.”

It took Crowley a moment for his higher brain functions to reboot and come back online. He returned the embrace and looked at Aziraphale’s face, which was flushed a deep crimson.

“Oh, angel, I missed you too,” he said as he pulled back a little further. “And, not that I’m complaining, but you don’t need to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I know that, but there are so many things that I _want_ to be comfortable with. That I want to try to become comfortable with. I’m just...just...I’m so slow, and I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Crowley tipped Aziraphale’s chin up so their eyes met. “We can go as slow as you need. You're trying, I'm proud of you. Come on. Lets go inside.”

Crowley took his hand and together they headed to the top-floor flat. When the door opened, Aziraphale let out a small gasp at the new, warmer decor.

“Oh, you’ve been redecorating! It's lovely.”

“Yeah, well I figured, ‘new world, new me,’ eh?” He shrugged as he gestured for Aziraphale to sit on the new cherry wood sofa with burgundy leather cushions as he went to pour them both a glass of wine. “Well, maybe not ‘new me’ actually. More like ‘me me.’”

Aziraphale eyed the bookcases, nearly empty save for the occasional plant and knick-knack, knowingly. Crowley caught his glance and added, more to his glass than to Aziraphale, “With a strong bit of ‘us’ thrown in.”

Aziraphale gave a happy little wiggle, but then sobered and gestured for Crowley to sit next to him. 

Aziraphale glanced down, unable to meet Crowley’s eyes as he braced for the conversation he had been preparing for for the last two months. He forced his eyes up, only to have them fall back down to Crowley’s chest. 

“My dear…” he tried again, but his eyes refused to leave Crowley’s chest. 

Gathering himself, he tried once more, “Crowley, my dear....” but he couldn’t continue. He set his glass down on the coffee table with a light clink and let out an annoyed sighed.

“Crowley, I can not possibly have a serious conversation with you while you are wearing _that_.”

He gestured at Crowley’s t-shirt, which is emblazoned with his astronomy meet-up group’s name and logo. Crowley looked down at his shirt and smirked. It was black with a blue planet with angled rings screen-printed on it and the words ‘I Can See Uranus From Here’ written above it. He would readily admit that he chose this group based almost solely on its name. He was very excited to discover that they did, in fact, have t-shirts, and acquired one as quickly as possible, knowing that it would both amuse him to no end and fluster his angel. A double win in his book. 

He snorted back a giggle and then snapped to change his shirt to a far tamer picture of the milky way galaxy with an arrow pointing to a small dot near one edge, declaring ‘You Are Here’.

“Thank you. As I was trying to say,” Without the distracting t-shirt he was finally able to meet Crowley’s golden eyes. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for ever making you feel like you're not a priority in my life.”

Aziraphale leaned over and took Crowley’s glass from his hands and set it next to his own on the coffee table and grasped Crowley’s hands in his. 

“You _are_ the most important thing in the world to me, and I'm sorry you have ever had any cause to doubt that. And I know that I have given you so many reasons to doubt that. I spent millennia thinking that I was protecting us, but really, I think I was just trying to protect myself. I let you take on all the risk, do all the hard work, and could never bring myself to take on that burden. And you were always so willing to take it. I’ve spent so many centuries so afraid. So afraid to ask for anything I _wanted_. I was afraid to even want. But you always seem to know, I never needed to ask, and I got used to it. I have been negligent of you, and what _you_ wanted.”

Aziraphale took a deep, fortifying breath, grateful that Crowley was allowing him to say his piece without interrupting. 

“I cannot promise that I will be perfect. In fact if my history is anything to go by I will probably fail, quite spectacularly, a few times,” he said this with a little chuckle, but pressed on before Crowley could chastise him for his self deprecation, “But I promise, that I am going to work to always make you feel like a priority, and I am going to show you how much you mean to me. I want you to let me care for you, like you have cared for me for all this time. We can take care of each other. And I want you to tell me when I slip up. Please. I want to be better for you.”

Crowley was emotionally overwhelmed by Aziraphale’s speech and was only able to nod.

“And, dearest, if you wouldn’t mind, I would also like you to tell me when I get it right. I want to know when I do the right thing.”

Crowley nodded vigorously, “Of course, angel, but like I've told you before, I don't think you can do the wrong thing.”

Aziraphale tutted, “Darling, you _know_ that is not true.”

They both chuckled before Crowley responded, in earnest, “Communication is key, both likes and dislikes.”

“Precisely. And Crowley, thank you for being strong enough to give me the kick in the pants I needed. And I am sorry I kept you waiting for so long after you left.”

Crowley scoffed, “Honestly, until that witch woman barged in here screaming about breakups, I wasn’t worried. I’m used to going years without talking to you, especially after a fight.”

The holy water incident hung unsaid between them.

“Never again, dearest.” He leaned in and pulled Crowley into his arms and buried his face into his neck.

They stayed locked in their embrace for several minutes before Aziraphale pulled away and asked Crowley for a tour of his redecorated flat.

Crowley led him around by the hand, narrating his thought process towards different pieces. Occasionally Aziraphale made a comment or suggestion, but mostly praised the demon’s good taste. 

They ended the tour in the conservatory- _cum_ -sunroom where Aziraphale readily nestled into the cuddler chair with Crowley snuggled comfortably into his side.

“Now, tell me all about your observatory trip.”

“It was fantastic, angel, getting to see some of my stars like that. You know, there is another group trip to the South Downs next month. Got a whole Dark Sky Reserve down there. You should come with. We could make a whole week of it. Explore the area.”

“That sounds splendid. Maybe we could find a little cottage to stay in. Will you show me all the stars you made?”

Crowley made a noise of assent and he snuggled deeper into Aziraphale’s side. They stayed there all evening, quietly planning their trip to the South Downs together.

They awoke the next morning, wrapped together in the over-sized chair. Together they began to fill the shelves of Crowley’s flat with books loved by them both.

Today was going to be day one of them treating themselves, and their relationship, as the priority.

**Author's Note:**

> The purple paperback I imagined Aziraphale reading on the wall is Gary Chapman's "The Five Love Languages." As for what our boys’ love languages are, I think Crowley is pretty solidly ‘acts of service.’ I think Aziraphale is also ‘acts of service,’ but has only felt comfortable giving ‘quality time.’ Additionally, I see Aziraphale also being ‘words of affirmation.’ Aziraphale blooms and wilts at words (see Crowley saying he doesn't think Aziraphale could do the wrong thing and Gabriel calling him soft as just a couple of examples). 
> 
> So in their future, Aziraphale is going to work on his ‘acts of service’ for Crowley, and get Crowley to give him his needed ‘words of affirmation.’ And they will move to the South Downs and stargaze happily ever after. ❤️

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [First to Die](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24434902) by [somerandomonline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somerandomonline/pseuds/somerandomonline)




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